Exactly what it says on the tin.

YSaC, Vol. 868: Your Cassette Pet.

Homosexual Cassette Tapes (You Specify)

Hey, I found your homosexual cassette tapes,
email with identifying information and you can
have them back. some of them are missing
or damaged but most of them seem ok.

What, exactly, constitutes a homosexual cassette tape? I didn't even know you could identify the gender of cassette tapes. If I was forced to guess, I would have said that all the tapes were female, since the mechanism for playing cassettes looked vaguely like inserting Tab A into Slot B ... but I had no idea that some of the cassettes I had in the 80s were secretly on the down low with one another. (Okay, I might have had a slight suspicion about the Wham!UK cassette and the Frankie Goes to Hollywood cassette. I kept catching them snuggling one another in the tape case.)

Or, maybe they're cassettes designed to turn you into a homosexual. You know, since homosexuals are constantly trying to recruit new members -- they're obviously trying to brainwash and hypnotize others into becoming homosexuals by using these cassette tapes as promotional material. Nothing says "JOIN US!" quite like a cassette tape of Richard Simmons.

ATTN: FOUND TAPE OF KIM'S BIRTH

I GOT A VHS TAPE OF KIM GIVING BIRTH THAT I FOUND IN A BOX I GOT AT FLEA MARKET. LOOKING FOR THE OWNER OF IT TO RETURN IT, THEY MIGHT STILL WANT IT. LET ME KNOW IF IT'S YOUR'S AND WHEN BABY WAS BORN AND NAME IF IT'S YOUR'S. THANK YOU

I can tell you afterbirth smells nasty. I did some volunteer work at Labor and Delivery for awhile about 10 years ago. Thankfully I have no idea about Chlamydia. Oh and 2nd YSAC entry FTW! I feel so proud *sniff*

As for birth tapes .... there are somethings that you don't want to remember in detail and don't want to show all of your friends and neighbors. Mom and baby pictures afterward are just fine. (I think that I might have needed those Matt tags again????)

Could these be pron tapes? I don't think pron cassettes would be very much fun. They'd be like listening to a surveillance tape of a very religious obese person with asthma. "Oh, God!" [Seconds of heavy breathing and grunting.] "Oh, God!" [More heavy breathing and grunting.] "Oh, God!" [Yet more heavy breathing and grunting.]

"All right you MP3s! I've told you all that we'll not stand for that in this house! If you want to do that kind of thing, go live in SanFrancisco! Damn it "Don't Stop Believing", get your hands off of "Mr. Roboto!" I don't care if you're comfortable with it, I'm not and this is my house! Why cant you both find a pair of nice CDs to hold hands with?"

I had the same confusion, and what I eventually ended up with was that it was Kim giving birth, and the guy wanted to know when the baby was born and the baby's name in order to verify that it was, in fact, Kim (and her vagina) coming to pick up the VHS tape.

Just how specific does the "identifying information" have to be? "One of the cassettes is cracked on the edge" or "Twelve minutes into Charlie and the Fudge Factory there is a half-second of static followed by a subtle red-cyan shift that lasts for eight minutes and fourteen seconds"?

'Course it's one minute to orgasm. Definitely only one minute to orgasm.
I definitely like that, definitely like. 'Course there's four billion, two hundred million, seven hundred and three thousand, five hundred and ninety-three nerve endings in the human penis.
Uh-oh! Fart.
Course it's ten seconds to orgasm, ten seconds.

Dimpy loved flea markets and used goods stores. There was never any telling what sort of weird and wonderful personalized treasures could be found by digging through the piles created by the day's lazy shoppers and spending a few bucks on the sort of obscure things nobody else was likely to want. Diaries that still contained personal entries from their previous owners, mix tapes, old recorded VHS movies, 8mm films, and so on. He wasn't sure how these sorts of things slipped past staff screening processes that was supposed to have them tossed for privacy reasons, but they did, and that was his gain. His ex-girlfriends couldn't stand his obsession, and it was usually the reason they became his exes in the first place.

Today's haul were a series of audio cassettes and a VHS tape whose labels were worn and faded over such a time as to be unreadable by now, which made the discovery process that much more fun. They were like a voyeuristic version of those surprise candy bags; you knew there was going to be some stuff you didn't like in there, but you bought it for the stuff you knew it probably contained that you did like.

Dimpy decided to try one of the audio cassettes first; they were already rewound, so that was handy. He popped one into his vintage dual deck unit -- also procured from a second-hand store, naturally -- and hit play. After the crescendoing de-spooling tone, a man's voice began to speak.

Hello, and welcome! You have made the right choice in buying this tape, because you are about to embark on a journey that many before you have taken. But before this tape, their journeys were fraught with peril. They risked becoming feared, cast out, or worse, injured, and many delayed the journey as long as they could because of this -- until they were strong enough to handle the dangers that stood in their way. But now you no longer have to face these dangers alone, because you have purchased the path to personal freedom, to emotional freedom, and to worldly success despite societal pressures against you. I will be your guide along this path, to help you each step of the way and to show you exactly how to achieve this success. My name is Piers Rumping, and together, we will step out of the closet and into the sunshine as I guide you on The Road to Successfully Becoming Openly Gay.

Dimpy paused the tape. Odd. He liked to try and date the stuff he found either by its contents or the medium containing it, but it was hard to do with this. The label was quite nondescript even for a recordable, listing only the length of the cassette and giving no manufacturer name and only a simple red border. There was the faintest indentation from a pencil that had written a description of its contents, but it had either faded or been erased. Given that there were no markings indicating that it was metal or chrome, or featured any form of Dolby noise reduction, he had to assume it was either a really cheap import of a more recent vintage, or something old enough not to have had such options available to it when it was manufactured.

The announcer, on the other hand, had a distinct 50s or 60s vibe to him. His tone, enunciation, pacing, choice of words, and in particular, the way the audio seemed to be recorded within a fairly narrow frequency band that seemed to cut off anything above 5k or below 3k, resulting in a pretty muddy recording with no bass and barely-defined highs. At best, this was a more recent cassette taping from a much older source, maybe a transfer from an old 4-track reel.

Perhaps it piqued his curiosity because not only did it remind him of those early television public service announcements that were so deliciously naïve, racist and chauvinistic by today's standards, but this was exactly the opposite sort of thing such mid-20th-century sensibilities tried to impress. For no other reason than this, Dimpy continued to listen to the tape.

It was rather remarkable given both the content and period in which it had surely been recorded, but the content itself was also rather fascinating and strangely prescient in that much of the guidance and instruction it gave sounded like it could still be relevant today despite modern society's greater acceptance of alternate lifestyles. Stranger still, Dimpy felt an odd and inexplicable sense of relief when the tape ended, and not because it was over.

Dimpy mentally shook himself off and decided to turn his attention to the videotape he found. He stuck it in the VCR and hit play. It had obviously not been rewound, so it started smack in the middle of a frantic scene with the camera pointed directly at the business end of a woman giving birth.

"Hoo, boy," Dimpy said aloud in an effort to expel the sudden shock he experienced from the startling immediacy and intimacy of the visual. He should turn it off, he really should. But he couldn't. It was like rubbernecking by an accident scene on the highway, only staring at the creation of life instead of its grisly loss. There was yelling and screaming, breathing exercises and commands to push, all while the husband tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to pretend his wife wasn't crushing his hand into a bag of gravel.

At long, loud and awkward length, the baby was delivered, cheers were raised and joyous tears were shed -- Dimpy had to admit that even he was misting up, and he waggled a hand in front of his face for a moment as if to shoo away the melancholy before wondering why he just did that -- and eventually the husband was led off to have his hand fitted for a cast.

The birth video seemed important. Someone must have given this away by accident. He really should try and find its owners, as they probably would want such a keepsake back. He posted on Craiglist, hoping that they were local and would see the ad and respond and be happy to have recovered such precious, though visceral memories.

On impulse, he also posted about the homosexual tapes to find their owner. He didn't know why; if he was helped by these tapes, would he still need them? And if they didn't help, he probably considered them junk. Plus, who knows how long ago these were given away. Still, he thought maybe the owner might still want them back, perhaps as a memento of his sexual liberation.

Dimpy was suddenly and simultaneously startled and curious as he wondered if the owner might still be single.

Mindfield, you need to collect these stories into a folksy novel, similar to the works of Tom Bodett, Gene Shepherd or Garrison Keillor (or however those names are spelled). You can call it "Tales From Ish."
Seriously, half the choking giggle-fits I have are from the names alone.

Heh, thanks. I've actually been toying with something like a bite-sized-story-a-day-ish blog with stuff I've posted here and original stuff. Still haven't committed to anything as I'm not entirely sure whether I could maintain a daily-ish posting. I don't exactly have the kind of energy level of Hyperbole and a Half or The Blogess (although the former hasn't posted in over two weeks). I dunno ... maybe. I've got the server space for it just sitting there being unproductive. Could someday turn into a short story book type deal.

I've got the camera running now, actually. Some of the problem didn't replicate, and I got some help solving the rest. I haven't tried to save it, yet, so I can't count my yeasties before they're saved.

In frustrating news, I have the camera moving back and forth between two locations on the slide. One location is staying in focus but drifting laterally, while the other location won't stay in focus for more than a couple pictures. Grr...

My mom once did some kind of lab research involving an electron microscope and a camera, but that was the olden days when the camera would have had actual film in it and computers weren't part of the process ... probably not long after you were born, AR. (Wow, I feel old. ) The subsequent work she did that did use computers did not involve cell photography.

Wow, I got so distracted by this thing over there that I almost didn't notice AR's grammatical faux pas.

I know very little about biology and even less about the methods and processes involved in microscopy that isn't covered on House, other than looking at my own blood and a variety of household flotsam on a glass slide in a microscope my dad bought me when I was a kid. Nevertheless I find the sciences fascinating, even if I really don't quite understand what's being described.

Now, astronomy and cosmology is something I know a little bit more about and something I find endlessly fascinating.

I put yeast cells on a special type of slide.
I used a digital camera to take pictures of the cells through the microscope. So the tiny cells come out about fingertip size on the computer screen.
I changed the medium the cells were growing in to see if the fluorescence would change. (It did. Now I just have to figure out if the two different samples changed in the same way or not.)

Thank the Llamanun that I have you guys to keep me entertained, since the microscope needs to have the focus adjusted every 10-15 minutes for 3 hours. I can't go do anything else, so I sit there and read YSaC between adjustments.

Sparky 1: Hey, I found your gay tapes, bro. I wore some of them out Some are kinda messed up or missing. E-Mail me with your personal deets so I can stalk you confirm they're really yours and you can <stroke>come back to my place, bouncy bouncy!</stroke> have them back.

(I did accidentally type stroke instead of strike, but it, um, felt appropriate, so I left it and made it a fake tag.)

Sparky 2: Hey, I found your birth fetish tape. How 'bout you tell me a little bit about yourself it and prove it's yours and then you can come give me more mental imagery for quiet shirt time get it back.

Well, I'm frightened that the ibm card machine in my brain rattled out the possibility that Sparky One means VHS (cassette) tapes. Meaning that the content would be un-mistakable.

If that is the case, then the next possibility is that these rea home-made tapes, and thus, someone locally recognizable is seen.

Now, for Sparky Two, he clearly had to buy all five tapes for $5, even though all he wanted was the copy of the last episode of A-Team tape. Bored, he stuck the other tapes in, and, lo and behold, there's Kim delivering up a child.

How does he know it's Kim?
Voice of the cameraman telling Kim:

Move to the left; no, the other left; hey outta my light; Kim. please, stop the blood-curdling screams, it's redlining the audio; Kim, please, let's not use that kind of language in front of the medical staff (I mean, really!); now Kim, you said you wanted more children; Hey, My Light!; oh, that's gross--you couldn't have done that before?; Kim, I've mentioned your language; now Kim, both of my parents have been married, let's not give the help any false impressions . . .

I wonder... what's wrong with people who film themselves giving birth? I never understood the point of it... Ok, it's a unique moment, bla bla bla, but c'mon, do you REALLY think you'll fell like watching it AGAIN???

I mean: "Oh, mmmm... there's no Dr. House on TV tonight... Hey, but we could watch Kim's birth instead! Bring the popcorn!"

Geeezz! Gimme a break! That's disturbing! For me, the only reason that would make me feel like filming my child's birth was to remind myself how freakin' PAINFUL that is and that I should never do it again!
lol

I had a coirker once who ninja-ed everyone in the office with a book of baby-birthing photos. It was a scrapbook she had made herself, with themed pages and glitter, and the highlights were the little darling's emergence into the world. So very, very wrong.

Giving birth is brutal, painful beyond belief, violent, smelly and generally nasty...none of those things is on my bucket list to re-visit...not my kids' births, which are only remembered in the memories of those in attendance...or any other births.

Those who say it's "beautiful" and "natural" and all that nonsense are simply still riding the pain meds high.

Actually, I don't even know where my scar is.... I've looked for it a few times, but it either faded into nothing (why won't the scar on my hand do that?) or it got swallowed up by the landscape of empty stretch marks. (Hmmm... oversharing? Nah, I'm not posting pictures :-p )

Also, there would no-way-no-how have been video if Mini was born "traditionally." Surgery is cool, though.

HAhaha, a zipper would be hilarious.... On one hand, I can see that being a really funny tattoo for anyone who had more than two or three c sections ("Just install a zipper for the next one!"), but on the other hand, if she gets pregnant again....

Yeah, this is wrong in so many levels... Personally, I hate when people come to show me their photos of babies, marriages and joy... I hate other people's joy... Maybe I'm bitter... LOL Gosh I need some therapy!

I will admit, I have HD video of my c section. BUT, I don't force it on anyone (Except my teenage SIL, because MrEB thought it would be funny to see her squirm :-p) and I let Mr video it because I wanted to see it later (big curtain between my head and belly)...

This particular coirker had some sort of obsessive scrapbooking disorder. She had a book for the pregnancy (including such gems as "First Stretch Mark!" and "My Innie Becomes an Outie!") as well as the birthing book. She probably had one for the conception as well.

Yeah, that's my concern, too. I can sort of see filming the birth if you're the mom or dad, but showing it to anyone, ever, just seems like such an invasion of privacy. THEIRS. (If Mom is the one peddling the video to innocent viewers, I'm guessing privacy is not an issue with her on this.) Even the kid is never going to want to see it if it shows Mom's ladybits. EEEEEWWWWW!

CJ, I am going to have grandbabies first - I did it the sensible way and made someone else give birth to and raise my son, and then give him to me as an almost-grown 17-year-old. I'm not claiming this was my life plan, but it's actually workin' for me. (I do, however, tell him that when he is allowed to reproduce I'll let him know.) Once Mr. Tank and I were watching a c-section on TV (I love me some Discovery Health Channel) and the Tanklet came in. He was all "EEEEWWWW" and I yelled at him. I was like, "yeah, that's what your mom went through to bring you into this world, so next time you see her, you remember that, buddy!"

Back in the late '40s, no one would have thought of filming child birth except for a documentary. But my mom always told my brother the story of how she nearly died giving birth to him. The fact that she was overweight, didn't exercise much, and probably had gestational diabetes never seemed to enter into the tale. I always felt bad for him, but he was devoted to our mother all her life.

I did the same, let someone else raise my two and then when the time was right, snatched them away from her drug-addled, alcohol-fuzzed, homeless self. 8) Good times, good times.

Windrose and Tankerbell: Jokes aside, I think that is an amazing thing that you've done. Most people looking to adopt are wanting little beebees... Which is great, until it leaves a bunch of older in foster care, where they may-or-may-not have decent parental figures. I'm sure adopting older kids can be really trying, but they need someone like you guys

I agree with EB, you're both awesome for fighting the wicked stepmother stereotype.
We're looking into adoption and will very likely end up getting an older child because I won't go looking in third world countries when there are children here that need loving homes. I consider it a plus if I can avoid the diaper phase. Now if there was only a way to trade them in once they become teenagers ...

My best friend and I have an agreement: I'll take her kids while they're in diapers, then give them back potty trained. She'll take my kids when they're teenagers and give them back as bearable adults.

My husband's not so keen on passing off our kids, but what he thinks doesn't really matter, right?

I mean, I love babies (yeah, when they're babies - Babies don't walk , don't speak - oh but they cry... damn! -, don't break everything that you have ... yet...); but everytime a friend comes over and starts telling me about her experience, how freakin painful it is, how awful, the contractions, the blood, the smell and all the stuff that comes along with it, and this SAME FRIEND is expecting another baby I just... I just...I just don't understand LOL...

I don't have children yet, but I know one thing for sure: I WON'T FILM IT! lol

That's pretty gutsy for a fortune cookie to assume that whoever opened it would be sitting next to their spouse.

Man, how awkward would it have been if I'd opened it while the girl serving the Chinese food had walked up and asked me if I was enjoying my food. Stupid cookie and it's attempts to cause fraternization!

Taco, right now there's an ad for the new Tron movie on a bus shelter right by where I work and I think of you ... and the Tronlet ... every time I go by. Thus does YSaC now infiltrate all parts of my life ...

This is driving me crazy. My wife likes watching Judge Judy on some US station (KIRO 7 in Seattle, I think), which is going on in the background while I browse and work, and something like twice per commercial break there's this commercial for some tax lawyer pitching her service for people who owe the IRS more than $4K. The first words out of her mouth are, "Hi, I'm Ronnie Deutsch." Normally I wouldn't give a crap and ignore it like everything else, but she places heavy emphasis on her last name, and the D in particular, which makes it sound like she's trying to covertly use it as an epithet. Ronnie Deutsch. Every time it comes on I hear "Deutsch" like she's calling me an idiot. "Hey, deutsch. Get yourself in trouble with the tax man, deutsch? Sucks to be you, deutsch, but maybe if you pay me a lot of money I'll bail your broke ass out, stupid deutsch."

As an aside, I've now typed deustch so often in this post that I've achieved semantic saturation and now it looks wrong. I didn't even know that worked in writing.

I feel you pain. My husband is addicted to judge shows and in addition to Ronnie Douche (I had no idea she was franchised), we have two Texas ambulance chasers whose commercials would play at volumes ten times higher than the other commercials, which are already ten times higher than the show. Luckily, now that we don't have a tv he can only watch them on youtube, which he mercifully does on his iphone with earbuds.

Hello YASC! I wanted to thank you all for the loverly birthday wishes (and Manda for the new poncho), but I am still getting horrid, horrid errors when I try to post to the site. I hope the snarkers see this. Miss you!